Maintenant, j'apprends le français. Parce que je dois travailler à Montréal. Après 16 mois, j'ai été acceptée dans un cours de langue. Trois fois par semaine, je fatigue tbh. lol.
Sometimes, when I say I moved here only a year ago, the natural question becomes: How comme? Pour quoi?
There are several reasons. My closest friends live here. I could no longer see any opportunities for growth in Southern Ontario. Toronto felt expensive, and lonely, and something I'd done before. And then, I had just accepted a remote job offer. And maybe I could do my masters here, etc, etc.
The job, of course, was paying me based on a grant. Funding got pulled, and for the first time in my life, I was laid off. I didn't qualify for EI, so I hustled into a web design job. Courtsey of my enjoying html/css, etc. Survival became the thing. How much money do I owe for rent, the vet, my need for rideshare and food delivery because I have a hard time leaving the house, a hard time eating.
Art became less interesting. Making art, applying for projects and calls and funding. And then, art jobs were few and far between in remote settings. And local gigs required language skills I didn't have. At some point, I had to accept that -- well. Without being a part of an academic program, or close ties in the art community, or even language skills -- this was quickly feeling like a bad move.
Art is a priviledge. Making art, viewing art, understanding art as research process. The time, money, energy to make and sustain an arts practice in an ecology dictated by funding and various sizes of intituitions. Which, compared to a lot of places in the world, makes being an artist sustainable. But also turns livlihood dependant on this cycle of resources and personal connections.
After several months, an art/tech gallery and research center called me to offer me a job. It started next week. They needed an immediate yes to confirm funding. They were flexible about me working from home sometimes. They were down for me to code. And then, settling in, they were ok with my being a little late in the mornings. Or chit chatting through the day, even as part of the work.
As my will and energy to make art returned, I started to examine my relationship to making a lot more.
Before the move, I had already burnt out for the third or fourth time, working at a public library, while freelancing as an artist. I already knew that 'performing' for the grants, or internet or whatever. It didn't align with the way I needed to live. I barely open instagram, and I feel much better. Because really, I can't churn out work or documentation. And I start to resent how many of the relationships online are not-real. Beyond para-social, it's like -- Oh, this is my community. And then, I no longer wanted to make community based work in the same way. So, how to evolve and re-orient?
The less I am online, the more room I have for myself and the things I want to make. Even when survival and money are at the top of my priority list. Because making takes time, and sometimes skill. Especially when you are evolving your practice.
An MFA was not in the cards for me, but the sting of rejection lasted barely a day. Because it would still not give me the people or energy or money to build a practice that sustains me beyond the two to three years in academia.
I want an art practice that loves me back. And then, I want to be proficient in the tools I use, so I can make without having to struggle to find technicians or paid opportunities. And maybe even, I want to find ways to make money that's beyond the scope of grant cycles or instituitions. Not mutually exclusive, but building trust in my skills, energy, and ability to support myself. Without compromising my values for ethical pay, and projects that align with my values of bed-based, rest-first, care-focused methods.
I don't care what books you read. If you know the clear and concise definitions of intersectionality, or crip-time, or any other term under the sun. I care about love, and loving each other within the context of work, as well as life, and art, etc.
The struggle of artists in an extractive economy is aligned with the struggle of all workers in an extractive economy. Our priviledge as jesters in academia, media or private industries does not afford us the freedom to feel collectively secure in our basic needs for housing, healthcare, food, accessibility, etc. Thriving in the arts goes hand in hand with worker solidarity across sectors.